poem
Volume 33, Number 4

In a Basement in Moscow

my brother grips my arm
to break it if
I’ll break his
so they won’t force us to serve—

to break it if—
will they anyway?
force us to serve?
sending the sick to the front with no training—

will they anyway?
men from the villages, reindeer herders—
sent to the front with no training
suddenly soldiers

men from the villages, reindeer herders
stationed in torture chambers in Kupiansk
suddenly soldiers
ordered to heap families in mass graves,

stationed in torture chambers in Kupiansk
or sent where their own bodies—
ordered to heap families in mass graves—
will lie bulleted on frozen ground,

sent where their own bodies—
We should run, get to Georgia—
will lie bulleted in frozen ground—
forbidden to leave the city

we should run, get to Georgia
arrested, maybe shot if we get caught,
forbidden to leave the city
try for the border?

arrested, maybe shot if we get caught
I’ll break his—
try for the border?
My brother grips my arm


—Lily Jarman-Reisch